Ludovic Duchâteau. Prepper, 2014; plastic, epoxy, plaster, latex, copper, steel, acrylic; approx. 80 x 80 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

But Duchâteau’s work is a commentary not so much on technology but rather on technological fantasy. As digital and machine technologies become more complex, the objects become harder to interpret by visual analysis alone—who knows what really goes on among all those circuits and cables? In effect, high-tech objects may as well be alien to those who do not recognize their function. Visual interpretation fails to give sufficient information; what’s left is the visceral sensation, a viewer’s physical reaction to the object. If one cannot trust one’s senses to analyze an object or situation, the only recourse is ambivalence, a tension held indefinitely between fear and curiosity, security and danger. Duchâteau’s dejected sci-fi probes are the detritus of uncertain fantasies, a constant vacillation between the threat of technological power, the impotence of technological failure, and the inability to distinguish them.

Ludovic Duchâteau. Uncertain Messenger, 2014; plastic, epoxy, clay, latex, copper, steel, acrylic; approx. 3 x 22.5 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

This vacillation is felt most keenly in Duchâteau’s installations, where his objects can create a narrative within their settings. In Dynamic Confirmation (2016), a tentacular machine-object lies immobile in a construction zone, its black cables sprawled across the concrete. Its sleek, conic form suggests an object meant for flight, ill-suited for ground mobility. Its white plastic casing appears to be split, as if it had become dislodged from the impact of a crash landing. A bright construction light spotlights the object, and the viewer’s perspective, positioned behind a chain-link fence, makes the image read like a zone cordoned off by police. Though the crashed machine appears broken or disabled, there is ample room left around it, as if it might still be dangerous. Here, Duchâteau re-creates the wonder of a first-contact fantasy and tempers it with mechanical failure, as if our wildest dreams would be tainted by their realization. Dynamic Confirmation feels not unlike Neil Blomkamp’s 2009 film District 9, in which a Johannesburg filled with literal aliens is still banal and grossly human.

Ludovic Duchâteau. Dynamic Confirmation, 2016; plastic, epoxy, clay, latex, copper, steel, acrylic; dimensions variable; installation view. Courtesy of the Artist.

Perhaps what is most compelling about Duchâteau’s pieces is how well they are able to hold this tension, keeping in check both coarse realities and fictional anxieties. Somewhere in between these two extremes lies his newest work, In Dreamland (2016), an installation seemingly straight out of the same kinds of fantasies that produced the hit Netflix show Stranger Things. In this work, a ramshackle tarp tent is erected in the gallery space, accompanied by a Radio Flyer wagon full of books, with more piled around the tent. The setup is not unlike what a child fleeing the strictures of daily life might make, with a child’s essentials for escape: shelter and books. But from within the tent, beside a child’s prone form, extends a long, snaking tentacle; outside the tent, its color shifts from black to glowing orange. It seems that the sleeping child’s fantasies, the nightmares, have come alive and are creeping out into the world.

Ludovic Duchâteau. In Dreamland, 2016; epoxy, cotton, fiberglass, urethane foam, aluminum, acrylic, nylon, textiles, tent, tarp, Radio Flyer wagon, books; dimensions variable; installation view. Courtesy of the Artist.

Ludovic Duchâteau. In Dreamland, 2016 (detail); epoxy, cotton, fiberglass, urethane foam, aluminum, acrylic, nylon, textiles, tent, tarp, Radio Flyer wagon, books; dimensions variable; installation view. Courtesy of the Artist.

The same tension between sinister activity and prone vulnerability seen in Duchâteau’s probes are brought to life in In Dreamland, but this time the roles are split between two figures rather than inherent within a single form. Here, Duchâteau pulls apart the tangle of ambivalent desires packaged within technological objects and mythologizes them with a monster. But the relationship between the sleeping figure and the tentacle does not feel inherently dangerous—if anything, the child seems to be the least threatened by the lurching tendril. The suggestion here is not a resolution between wonder and reality but rather the potency of unknowability. The only way to make space for wonder is to accept the possibility of unknown consequences, perhaps even violent ones; the alien probe may be a precursor to invasion, or the only escape from reality may be a nightmare. But each of Duchâteau’s pieces holds that moment of ambivalence apart from the rest of the story, making room for greater possibilities yet to be imagined.

Ludovic Duchâteau studied visual arts in Paris, France. He spent several years envisioning interactive 3D software using behavioral models, with human–computer interactions as a creative resource. Before moving to the Bay Area three years ago, his sculpture, drawings, and installations were exhibited in Paris. His current work has recently been shown at The Lab in San Francisco, Oakland Art Murmur, and A Stark Project. Ludovic lives and works in the East Bay. He can be found on Instagram: ludovicduchateau.

Julia Westerbeke. Geophony, 2015 (detail); punctured and carved paper; 22 in x 15 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

In Geophony (2015), Westerbeke uses simple mark-making techniques to create intricately textured layers of thick watercolor paper. The title of this work is interesting to consider. As a scientific term, “geophony” refers to the sounds naturally generated by the geophysical activity on Earth, which includes wind, rainfall, thunder, and volcanoes. Here Westerbeke’s fascination with the mysterious attributes of nature manifests itself in a physical interpretation of the aural wonders of that which cannot be seen, only heard.

Julia Westerbeke. Afterimage IV, 2015; punctured paper; 32 in x 48.5 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

The idea of absence informing presence is another one of Westerbeke’s curiosities. Invoking Gaston Bachelard’s concept of “psychic weight”—in which the French philosopher explores the power that certain imagery has in eliciting personal memory—Westerbeke’s series involves a degree of abstraction that aims to do just that. In Afterimage IV (2015), viewers are drawn in to an elaborate braille-like composition, subtly texturing the outer sides of a plain white canvas while leaving an amorphous space of openness in between. By creating a visual balance between what appears to be a complex process of creation and the airiness that surrounds it, Westerbeke allows viewers the ability to flow between the artist’s state of consciousness and their own, projecting patterns of association and memory onto the empty canvas.

Julia Westerbeke. Afterimage IV, 2015 (detail); punctured paper; 32 in x 48.5 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Westerbeke’s production is gradually moving toward various modes of minimalism, and her technical strategies embody this trajectory. The artist’s matte-white compositions retain a purity that emphasizes the textural aspect of the work. In Paramnesia (2015), the surface of the thick watercolor paper is painstakingly punctured into a pattern that is evocative of the artist’s fascination with the complex microcosms found in nature. Using the line as the core of her process, Westerbeke describes her production as beginning with a traced pattern on canvas. She then moves into a meditative trance in which she allows the pattern to flow organically, driven by a subconscious movement that Westerbeke describes as “ritualistic.” In this way, the repetitive act of the texture-making process becomes Westerbeke’s translation of the idea that the subtle can give rise to the sublime, and the physical can manifest the metaphysical.

Julia Westerbeke. Paramnesia, 2015; punctured paper, frame; 30 in x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Between labor and play there is an intensity, and Westerbeke’s ethereal, hushed aesthetic produces a tension that captures the essence of human life—the shifting modes of consciousness and subconsciousness, the space between the realms of the ordinary and the extraordinary, the relativity of the human body to itself and to the universe. Westerbeke doesn’t attempt to reconcile these polarities; a simple answer may not be readily available, and perhaps it is precisely in the in-between-ness of these states, generated by paradoxical modalities, that one can find room for respite and contemplation.

Julia Westerbeke. Paramnesia, 2015 (detail); punctured paper, frame; 30 in x 30 in. Courtesy of the Artist.

Julia Westerbeke is an artist, curator, and educator based in Brooklyn. She holds an MFA from the University of California, San Diego, and a BA from Barnard College, Columbia University. Past exhibitions include Deluge at the DeYoung Museum, Staccato at den contemporary, Alien Organic at compactspace, and Morphology at A.I.R. Gallery. Her work has been featured in On-Verge, the WILD Magazine, Art Ltd, Les Femmes Folles, the Hollywood Sentinel, and the SF MoMA blog, among other publications and news sources.